in vino veritas
by What She Doesn't Know
Summary: In wine, there is truth.


They're at some bar, the four of them. Never mind that Nico's underage (only by two years, after all) or that Annabeth has classes early in the morning, they're at a bar (they can't remember the name, and they don't really care) and they've made it their extremely early New Year's Resolution to get completely snockered tonight.

It's almost funny, because Annabeth and Percy, usually the oh-so-sickeningly responsible ones, are tossing back shots like pros, and it's Nico, who at the age of nineteen has probably had more hangovers that the other three put together, who's hanging back a little.

He's never exactly been a social butterfly, but this is because of Rachel Elizabeth Dare.

Over the past few months, they've developed something that _resembles_ a friendship, because _friends _is too normal a word to describe the artistic Oracle of Delphi and the terminally moody son of Hades. He crashes on her couch sometimes- she has a fucking _huge _penthouse, but he always feels weird sleeping in one of the three guest bedrooms- and they both groan about how mushy and gushy and over-the-top storybook nonsense romantic Percy and Annabeth are. Seriously, when they're anywhere near each other, it's like you can _see _the little red Valentine's Day hearts shooting out of their eyes. They hit rough patches here and there, but really, they're as close to Disney perfect as two Olympus-saving demigods with immortal parental rivals can get. And it's enough to make even the most hardcore romance novel fan puke.

Rachel likes to have company when she paints, and Nico realized a while ago that they're perfect in conversation. She likes to talk, and though normally he isn't fond of either talking _or _listening, this girl is pretty damn interesting. He throws in a word here and there, and it keeps on rolling smoothly.

But he's never seen her wasted before, and he doesn't want to drink half his weight in the cheapest shit he can find and ruin this whole experience for him. Because it's actually pretty fucking funny.

She isn't stumbling around anymore, because she finally wised up (after the fourth time she smacked her shin on one of the stools or tables) and took a seat. Now, she's running up an impressive tab that Daddy Dare isn't going to be too happy about, and she's happily chattering away to anyone who comes by in a slurred voice, her train of thought jumping the tracks every few seconds.

Funny? No, it's fucking _hilarious_.

At least, it is until this guy whose name Nico will probably never know starts hitting on her, and he feels some nearly foreign emotion. Usually, Nico isn't a very jealous person, but watching this Neanderthal throw suggestive pick-up lines at Rachel makes him want to break something. Preferably the guy's nose, but Nico's learned from past experiences that there is only so much that the Mist will get you out of. So instead his grip tightens on his drink until he thinks that the glass might shatter and he watches her giggle like a little kid through narrowed eyes and tries to control his breathing as the guy slings one arm around her.

He isn't even aware that he's walking over to them until he snaps, "_Rachel_. Time to go." It's like his mouth decides to spit out the words without bothering to consult his mind, and he's _pissed_. Of course, later he'll think of some rational explanation _(what if Rachel accidentally lets something slip about Olympus or a prophecy?) _but at that moment all he can think of is that he does not want this guy touching her in any way.

Oh, yes. He's jealous, all right, and he is _not _enjoying it.

He doesn't even think of Rachel in a romantic way. Sure, she's fucking _gorgeous_- and interesting and artistic and eccentric and smart and funny and-

Gods, he is so screwed.

"What's the rush?" Rachel slurs, blinking innocently up at him, but even when she's sober, she's a horrible actress.

"C'mon, Rachel, I gotta get you home." He spits out the words like they're acid, and he tries not to notice just how hot she looks right now, in ripped-up skinny jeans and an extremely sexy dark green tank top. He'll be lying if he says that he's never thought about how attractive she is before, but he blames the alcohol for just how _much _he's thinking about it now.

The Neanderthal gives some sort of protest, but he's already scanning the bar for another potentially available piece of ass. Rachel rolls her eyes and tosses back the rest of her drink and gets up unsteadily, wobbling in her ridiculously high-heeled shoes and glancing around, like she's trying to figure out where the nearest exit is.

Nico sighs and leads her towards the door. She clings to his arm with a sort of death grip, giggling again every time she stumbles; one of these days, she's going to end up breaking her ankle. He steps out into the cool night air with her in tow, deciding against taxis and in favor of shadow travel.

"Rachel? _Rachel_?" He snaps his fingers in front of her eyes to get her attention. "Okay, Rachel, I want you to hold on to my hand _really _tight, all right? Don't let go." He's not sure what will actually _happen _to her if she lets go; will she be trapped in between for the rest of eternity, a girl within the shadows, or will she just end up in China or Indonesia or gods knew where else? Tonight's not really the night to find out either way, so he repeats himself to make sure she understands.

"Okie-dokie," she tells him, which brings another round of giggles. He can't tell if she's just really, _really_ drunk or if she's on something a little stronger than alcohol.

He just sighs again, and they both melt back into the shadows.

She's howling with laughter when they appear in her apartment; shadow travel apparently tickles her funny bone, and since it's better than her screaming bloody murder, he decides to leave her be. So he flops down on her couch and closes his eyes and tries to wait her out.

After a while, she's silent, and he figures that she's passed out or something. When he opens his eyes, she's _right fucking there_, staring at him, and he jumps about ten feet in the air and just about shrieks in surprise. "Damn it, Dare!" he shouts, and she just smirks, lying on her back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

"What's it like? To be able to have anyone?" she asks him, and she sounds dead serious.

"Um, Rachel?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I can't have _anyone_, you know." Even the idea is ridiculous.

She turns towards him and grins. "You can have anyone in this room."

She's about as subtle as a brick.

"_Rachel_," he groans.

"What?" All fake innocence and batting eyelashes again.

"Just… go to sleep, okay?" _Yeah, um… right there on the floor. That's fine._

Instead, she sits up straight, leans over, and smashes her lips against his.

At first, he's just too surprised to pull away- but then he's kissing her back, and he can taste the alcohol on her lips but he doesn't care, and _Apollo and Hades are gonna kill him _but that doesn't matter. He knows that they're both gonna regret this in the morning but that doesn't matter, either. Maybe he's had one too many, too. _Or ten too many._ And _it doesn't matter_. All that matters now is that, gods, he's fucking _kissing _Rachel Elizabeth Dare.

They pull apart, and he stares at her for a few seconds, half in shock.

"Rachel?"

"Yeah?"

"Seriously. Go to sleep."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, to be honest, I have no idea what this is. It's past midnight and I'm tired as fuck (that makes no sense) and... yeah.**

**I just started shipping Rachel/Nico. Why? Because I can. (And because they're my two favorite characters, besides Thalia and Ella, and I just want to lump them all together and call it a day.)**

**So sorry for the shitty ending, and sorry for the grammar/spelling mistakes I probably made. I read it over, but... whatever. Review please. (Also, don't add to Story Alert, because it's a oneshot and I'm not continuing it.)**

**I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.  
><strong>


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